


The Killer In Me

by LettersFromTheAsylum



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Pre-Canon, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Worried Gil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 19:42:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21463474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LettersFromTheAsylum/pseuds/LettersFromTheAsylum
Summary: Gil isn't good with emotions, but Malcolm needs someone, so that's enough.Papa Gil and young Malcolm.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Jackie Arroyo
Comments: 4
Kudos: 114





	The Killer In Me

**Author's Note:**

> The suicidal thoughts mentioned in the tags are only hinted at. Still, be wary.
> 
> Also, I suck at dialogue so sorry in advance.

Bringing him on the stakeout was Jessica’s idea. Gil didn’t know if he agreed with it, but before he could decide, there was a twelve-year-old kid slumped in his passenger seat. Based on the heated glare Malcolm was sending through the frosted windshield, Gil didn’t think Malcolm agreed to it either.

“I hate your car.”

Gil sighed. “I know, Malcolm.”

Malcolm didn’t. The times he spent with Gil in that car were some of the happiest moments of the last two years. Gil had no clue what the boy was like before his father’s arrest, but he’d like to imagine he was as lively and carefree as he was with a melted ice cream cone in his hand on the way home from school.

The kid went through these episodes sometimes. They generally lasted a few months, but he was doing better now than he was in the immediate aftermath of Martin’s arrest. Or so Gil thought.

A few weeks ago, Gil had been woken by Jackie at two in the morning. She clutched a phone to her chest like she was trying to block the sound of her frantic voice from reaching the person on the other line.

_ “Gil. Gil, wake up. It’s Malcolm.” _

_ Those words always got him up and moving in minutes. He worried about the boy constantly, even in his dreams. Before he knew it, he was pulling on the first pair of jeans he could find and he was out the door with his jacket still in his hands.  _

_ The upper east side was quite a drive from Gil’s home, but he made it in record time. When he made it to the Whitly’s door, his whole body was buzzing with fear of what he might find on the other side. _

_ “Jessica?”  _

_ “In here.” A voice from the living room called. Gil could hear his heart thumping in his ears as he jogged towards the voice.  _

_ Malcolm was sitting on the couch with Jessica beside him, holding an ice pack to his hand. Gil let out a sigh of relief. He had received calls from Jessica in the middle of the night that had ended in blood, and he was preparing himself for the possibility that this one would too. _

_ “What the hell happened?”  _

_ Jessica pulled the ice pack away from Malcolm’s hand and Gil felt his heart pick up the pace again. Malcolm’s left hand was purple and swollen. It had to be broken. Gil would have expected it to be wildly painful, but if the boy was in any pain, he didn’t show it. He just sat there, gaze stuck to the dwindling flames in the fireplace. _

_ “He hasn’t said a word. He won’t tell me what happened. I just heard a noise and–“ she lifted Malcolm’s arm as she trailed off.  _

_ “We’ll figure that out later. Let’s get him to the hospital.” _

_ Malcolm was silent the whole ride. His expression remained blank as they guided him into the emergency room and he didn't react when the nurse wrapped his hand in a white cast. _

Malcolm was either completely quiet, removed from the world around him, or a raging storm, angry at everyone and everything. Gil could never tell which he would get on any given day. Today, it was the latter. 

Gil rested his arm along the car window and settled in, watching the bakery across the street. The Surgeon’s arrest had gotten him promoted to detective and now he spent way too long in his car, waiting and watching. It was incredibly boring, but he couldn't help but appreciate the quiet now. There was a lot to be said and he wasn't sure how to start the conversation. 

He never found out how the fracture happened. A boxer’s fracture, the doctor said. Typically caused by incorrect hand positioning when punching something. The fracture, combined with Malcolm’s demeanor worried the doctor. Gil remembered the sick feeling in his stomach when the doctor handed Jessica a card with a child psychologist's number. 

Malcolm maintained his silence until they had gotten him back home and into bed and Jessica hadn't been able to wrestle an answer out of him the next morning. To say Gil was concerned would be a grave understatement.

Gil didn't understand how he’d grown so attached to this kid. He'd made arrests before, taken parents away. Why was this case so different?

He didn't sleep that night. Gil returned home and sat at the kitchen table with his wife, nursing a cup of coffee until sunrise. It was only after the adrenaline wore off that Gil realized what he missed. The vacant look on Malcolm’s face, the absence of a reaction to the injury. There just hadn't been a good time to confront the boy. Really, Gil knew he was just afraid of asking the question that needed to be asked, afraid of the answer.

”Malcolm,” he began, trying to get his attention. The second he turned his head towards Malcolm, he lost his nerve. ”How was school?”

A cop-out.

Malcolm tore his eyes away from the window and slowly turned towards him. “What?” The word was laced with venom. Malcolm was angry and he wanted Gil to know it.

Gil swallowed thickly. The boy wasn’t stupid, he knew something was up. “School. How was school?” 

Malcolm stared at him for a moment before facing back out the window. “Fine.”

“No one signed your cast?” 

The cast started halfway up his forearm and went down far enough to encompass his ring and pinky fingers. There was only one signature on it: Ainsley’s. The girl had written her name in pink marker and surrounded it in hearts. Gil knew Malcolm wasn’t the most popular, but that couldn’t have helped his case. Kids could be cruel.

“Everyone hates me,” Malcolm said, voice so soft Gil barely caught it. He almost wished he hadn’t, because he was certain his heart shattered in that moment. He wondered if Martin Whitly knew what he did to his son, if he even cared.

“Kid–“

“No, it’s okay. I don’t mind being alone.” There was resignation in his tone. The kid sounded old yet he was far too young to be saying things like that. 

“You’re not alone. You’ve got me, Jackie, Ainsley and your mom. We all care about and love you, Malcolm.” Gil reached his arm across the bench seat and rested it on Malcolm's shoulder. He needed to make sure he believed him, because Malcolm was too unstable. He needed to know people were there to catch him, always.

Malcolm had this hardness in his eyes when he met Gil’s eyes that it made that nauseous feeling return with a vengeance. When the hardness faded away, all that was left was sadness, and Gil knew exactly how Malcolm broke his hand.

“I need to ask you something. I need you to answer me honestly. Can you do that?” 

Malcolm shifted in his seat. Sometimes he lied to Gil, like when he didn't want him to worry. Gil knew this, and it scared him. He wanted Malcolm to trust him, to think he could come to him with anything. When you wanted a straight answer out of him, something better than  _ ”I'm fine”  _ you needed to be direct. Malcolm rarely lied when Gil was direct.

Gil let the moment drag out a little longer before pointing at the cast. ”Did you do this on purpose?”

Malcolm froze. Slowly, his head lowered. He nodded.

Gil knew the answer, but having Malcolm confirm it wasn't any less distressing. He leaned his head back against the headrest, looking at the roof of the car so he wouldn't cry. 

”Are you mad?”

The question made him jump. Even the thought of being angry with Malcolm for being in pain and dealing with it the only way he knew how was beyond possibility. 

”No, of course not, Malcolm. I'm not mad.” 

He wished Jackie was here. She always knew how to placate the boy, distract him from his own mind. She made him forget his father for a while. Gil felt inadequate compared to her. He didn't know what he was doing despite it being part of his job.

”You're crying.” Malcolm whispered, looking more and more panicked by the second.

Gil swiped the tears away. ”I’m just–I’m just worried.”

”That’s why I didn't say anything, I didn't want you to worry.” Malcolm was sitting up with his whole body turned toward Gil, eyes wide.

”No, Malcolm, don't worry about that. I just want to be sure you're safe,” Gil said. ”Can you tell me why you did it?”

Malcolm's breathing slowed a bit and Gil hoped he wouldn't fall back into that detached state. It was eerie to watch, like a living corpse. He wrapped his other hand around his injured one, cradling it like a safety blanket.

”I was angry because I can't stop being sad. It goes away for a little while and then it comes back and it  _ hurts _ . I don't know how to make it stop, Gil. The pills don't work, they just make me tired.” Tears streamed down his face. He was falling apart and Gil didn't know how to stop it.

Gil was crying now too. He unbuckled his seatbelt and moved over, wrapping the boy in a hug. Malcolm wrapped his good arm around him and leaned into his chest. ”I’m  _ tired _ , Gil.”

”I know.” Gil's voice was shaky. He hugged him tighter. He didn't know if Malcolm meant physically or emotionally, but he had a strong suspicion it was both. It made his stomach twist in knots.

”You won't be sad forever. We’ll fix this. We’ll find a doctor that can help you. You’ll be okay, Malcolm.” Gil felt the tension in Malcolm's body leave. He just needed assurance that everything would be okay. He was just a kid, he just needed support.

Malcolm sniffled. ”Please don't tell my mom.”

Gil pulled back and looked down at him. ”She needs to know. She can't get you help if she doesn't know.”

Malcolm pushed away from his chest. ”I know, and I'll tell her. Just let me do it.”

Gil nodded. He could do that. ”Alright, you can tell her.” He glanced back at the bakery. Realizing that nothing had changed, he sighed. ”It's late. Let's get you home.”

Malcolm rubbed at his eyes and twisted to put his seatbelt on. As Gil put the key in the ignition and turned, he looked over the boy once more. 

”Hey.” Once he was sure he had his full attention, Gil looked him in the eye. ”If you ever feel like doing something like that again, call me. I know you probably don't feel comfortable telling your mom, but she will help you too. You don't have to do this alone. I know our minds can be a scary place sometimes and that's okay. I just need you to know that you don't have to hurt yourself to feel better. It's not the only way.”

Gil used his no-nonsense voice, the one he used when Malcolm had gotten in trouble at school or done something wrong. Malcolm knew he meant it. He nodded.

The drive back to the Whitly house lulled Malcolm to sleep. Gil didn't understood, all that crying had exhausted him too. When he finally fell into his own bed, he was out within minutes.


End file.
